


Set it free

by woodsong_1978 (Vae)



Category: Firefly
Genre: Future Fic, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-02-11
Updated: 2008-02-11
Packaged: 2017-12-06 19:22:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/739223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Vae/pseuds/woodsong_1978
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><b>Prompt:</b> <span class="ljuser i-ljuser"></span><a href="http://sheryden.livejournal.com/profile"><img class="i-ljuser-userhead"/></a><a class="i-ljuser-username" href="http://sheryden.livejournal.com/"><b>sheryden</b></a>; A celebration, childhood memories, Mal in a suit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Set it free

**Author's Note:**

> Xiexie to [](http://lvs2read.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://lvs2read.livejournal.com/)**lvs2read** for the beta check

It's quiet. Away from the crowds, and more importantly, away from River, which is what Simon needs right now. The last thing he wants is his far too perceptive mèi mei having her day ruined by picking up on his reluctance.

Simon drops down onto the bench, and rests his head in his hands. One day. One day, out of all their lives, and he's had plenty of time to prepare for it, and yet, it's still a shock that the day's actually arrived. It still doesn't feel real, although he's definitely there, bench hard beneath his buttocks, air cool against his face and slightly scented with incense. There's a faint buzz of distant conversation from beyond the closed door, which grows in volume when the door creaks open and fades when it closes behind Mal.

He doesn't need to look up to know that it's Mal. His captain (and Mal will always be his captain first, he's accepted that) is probably the only person who would come looking.

The bench creaks and dips as Mal settles next to him. There's no physical contact, and Simon doesn't look up, but even without the familiar smell of leather and gun oil, there's no mistaking the soft exhalation of breath that's not quite a sigh.

“You know,” Mal remarks, after a few minutes' silence, “there's a woman out there going to be powerful disappointed if you ain't back in that hall 'fore the hour strikes.”

That's the mental leap Simon can't quite take. River's still his little sister, still a little girl, still someone he's responsible for. Still fragile, still needing care. Regardless of the fact that she's been flying Serenity for nearly two years and hasn't needed medication for at least eighteen months, regardless of the fact that she's capable of not only looking after herself but has been invaluable in any number of fights where Simon himself has been safely hidden on Serenity at Mal's insistence. Simon can't quite reconcile that with his mèi mei.

“Not to mention that Jack's gonna start getting antsy when she's not tripping down that center aisle on account of how she's waiting on her brother. Now, could be that he ain't all you've been wanting for River, but -”

“No.” It's not as loud as he intended, voice rough at the edges, and Simon swallows hard, turning his head to see that Mal's watching him intently. “No, all I ever wanted for River was...well.” He pauses, laughs softly, shakes his head. “Once, I wanted her to be a scientist. Some form of research, tiān a, Mal, you should have known her when...She was incredible.” His voice softens, memory painting vivid images in his mind. “Such a quick brain, so fast to grasp an idea, to perceive and understand and then she'd take it, extend it, logic reaching such extraordinary places, you or I could never even hope to follow the rhyme and reason. She could have accomplished so much, led whatever field she chose, before...Before. And she just wanted to dance.”

Mal nods, places a hand on his thigh and squeezes gently. “That ain't anything that's gone, Simon.”

It isn't. But it has changed, that bright eagerness faded to an almost clinical analysis of facts, an almost mechanical calculation replacing the vivid enthusiasm and discovery. “She was so young,” Simon whispers, looking down at Mal's hand. Simple physical connection. He can name every bone and muscle in that hand, and recite the history of each and every scar marking the skin. He knows every nerve that controls movement, and every nerve that's transmitting his own reaction, but there's no science in the universe that can explain the emotional impulse, the easing of tension.

“I'm thinking that she ain't exactly an old woman now.” Mal's voice is dry as the deserts of Ezra. “Jack's a good man.”

Silence returns. Simon's not waiting for Mal to elaborate – in all likelihood, he won't say anything more, because that's all that needs saying. And it's true, Jack _is_ a good man, and River loves him, and he loves River, and sometimes it's hard to see that Jack can follow her linguistic flights while Simon's left earthbound, helpless to do anything but watch and wait for her to come back down to a level he can achieve. Not alone, though. Never alone. “I know.” He covers Mal's hand with his own, caught briefly by the contrast in skin tone, even now. Pale against golden tan, broader spread of Mal's fingers making his own seem delicate. “I just want her to be happy.”

Mal turns his hand and laces their fingers together, then stands, tugging until Simon's got no choice but to follow. Well, follow, or let go of Mal's hand. There's no contest. “Then you're gonna go out there with me and watch her marrying the man she's wanting to make her happy the rest of her life, because she ain't gonna be happy pledging herself without you there to give her away.”

“Or her captain to perform the ceremony,” Simon returns, matching Mal's light tone. “I wouldn't want you to have gone to all the trouble of putting that suit on for no reason.” It's a suit that looks vaguely familiar. He's got a notion that Mal's had it for a long time, but the styling's classic, so it doesn't look old. It's in excellent condition, and excellently cut to show off some of the finer points of Mal's physique.

“I got at least one perfectly good reason.” Grinning, Mal uses his grip on Simon's hand to tug him in closer, and the next thing Simon knows, he's backed up against the door with over six foot of smiling captain pressed against him, Mal's lips close to his ear, close enough that he can feel the warm puff of air forming each word. “Being that I'm looking forward to the time you're gonna be taking it off of me.”

That's not a reason that Simon can find any logical argument against. But then, he's always found it hard to think of logic when Mal's kissing him.


End file.
